Kind of a few thoughts bouncing about the internet about land and how it should managed and how that relates to the challenged term of the Anthropocene epoch. Collected, they indicate how confused we are about nature and humanity’s impacts on nature. Let’s work our way backwards through time in pondering this.
First up, a story about a transfer of management from the federal government to a Native American tribe. High Country News covers this transfer in Oregon, where the Cow Creek band of the Umpqua Tribe took over control of land just in time for a considerable fraction to burn in a forest fire. They had yet to implement a management plan, but they know the path they want to follow:
[Michael] Rondeau explained that the management of Cow Creek Band of Umpqua Tribe of Indians reservation lands would reflect Indigenous values: an example separate from either industry or conservation groups. “We don’t believe in locking up the forests and allowing them to ‘remain natural,’ because it never was,’” Rondeau said. “For thousands of years, our ancestors used fire as a tool of keeping underbrush down, so that the vegetation remains healthy and productive.”
As the article points out, this places the tribe at odds with many environmentalists, a conflict that actually goes pretty far back–though maybe not quite as far as some would have it:
“The conservation movement began as a way for settlers to justify the seizure of Indigenous lands under the pretext that Native peoples didn’t know how to manage them,” says Shawn Fleek, Northern Arapaho, who is director of narrative strategy for OPAL Environmental Justice Oregon. “If modern conservation groups don’t begin their analysis in this history and struggle to address these harms, it becomes more likely they will repeat them.”
This is an interesting take on frontier justice, for while conservationists were indeed complicit in accepting the status quo that followed removal of Native peoples, given the opposition from locals to withdrawal of lands from private use, it seems a reach to imagine gold miners triggering armed conflict under the banner of conservation.
At the heart of this dispute is the question of what exactly do we mean by “nature”? Read More…
One of the very first and most primary missions of the original U.S. Geological Survey and the preceding surveys was the creation of topographic maps. Many of the goals of the survey relied on having accurate base maps to work from. And so the Survey kept refining their skills, both by adopting newer techniques (e.g., moving from plane table and alidade to air photo stereogrammetry) and making larger scale maps (moving from 1:125,000 scale maps to 1:24,000 scale–the 7.5′ maps many outdoor users were familiar with).
Until around 2000, that is. About that time, the Survey decided that rapid updating of maps was more important than accuracy. This required either a lot more manpower or a shift to purely automated map making. With the proliferation of electronic means of using maps, sticking with printing vast volumes of paper maps also undercut the business model for map making. So instead the Survey began a program producing new maps called “US Topo” maps. There have been a lot of complaints about these maps from missing mine openings to absent peak elevations, but we’ll want to look at that most central part of “Topo”–the topography. As we’ll see, the name might be unfortunate as the topography may not be as useful as in the past.
Consider these parts of topo maps where GG was recently hiking:
On the left/above is the old map and the new map on the right/below (in both cases this merges two maps; you might notice that the longitude marks have moved a bit; bigger versions that don’t sit side by side are at the bottom of this post). There are boatloads of differences. The steep cliffs and multiple ridge lines and gullies on the north side of Terra Tomah Mountain are richly imaged on the left but smoothed into oblivion on the right. But there are some more subtle differences that can make a big deal on the ground. Look north of Rock Lake at the 10,600′ contour. On the old map, the 10,600 and 10,640′ contours are very close together, much closer than those above or below, indicating a short steep rise. Which GG can very is there from walking over it yesterday. On the new map everything from 10,520′ to 10,680′ has the same slope. This can be a critical piece of information when navigating in a forest. Or a less subtle piece of topography is seen in the 10,400′ contour west of Rock Lake where three dimples in the old map show three narrow gullies coming down the slope, two of which are actually likely candidates for a means to ascend the slope in question. These are absent from the USTopo map.
GG has not ventured into the arena of Instagram; frankly, it appears from a distance a rather narcissistic enterprise. But a pair of writings points to a very polarized and emotional debate about one aspect of Instagram, namely geotagging photos in wild places. Consider these excerpts:
“I started PLHY [Public Lands Hate You] as a way to vent my frustration about the abuse I was seeing.” By this he means the illegal trails, campsites, and campfires; the growing trash along the trails; the human feces, improperly disposed, stinking in the forests and the canyons; the freshwater pools turned into urinals; the ancient archeological sites vandalized and looted; the trees scarred from the maulings of knives, the rocks graffitied, the vegetation stomped out of existence; and so on. “All of this has really been tipping in the wrong direction for the last five years or so, which oddly enough coincides with the rise of Instagram,” he said.–from The New Republic.
Similar to Leave No Trace hysteria, the pushback against geotagging involves ordinary people deputizing themselves and asserting authority they don’t actually have to keep the outdoors “pure” or “wild”, “pristine” or simply, the way they remembered it from childhood by excluding people they view as dirty, loud, offensive, or simply not sharing their values.
Protect public land from deforestation, uranium mining, single crop farming, oil and gas extraction — yes! These are all worthwhile causes. But protecting public lands from people of color? Seriously?–Danielle Williams reposted by High Country News.
Both points of view have questionable presumptions and logical flaws, both also have valuable points GG tends to agree with. And despite some of the intense vitriol from both sides, one suspects that if the Idaho man behind PLHY and Danielle Williams sat down and talked, there would be an awful lot of agreement. Both pieces are worth reading (as is the post at Melaninbasecamp.org by Williams linked in the quote above). And as much geological research is done on public lands, this interests GG for the implications for geoscience as well.
Because there is a lot of emotion swirling around this, let’s tear things apart into their component pieces, which should help to clear the air a bit. Basically there’s the original landscape, there is (usually) the person in the photograph, there are the actions of the person in the photo, and then there are the actions of those seeing the photograph.
…is death on a class trip. Going to places with unstable footing and exposure is often part of seeing geology that clarifies understanding, but it carries real risks. For GG, the most terrifying site is Toroweap Point in Grand Canyon National Park where, every time he visits, he breathes a sign of relief when the same number of students pile back into vehicles that had piled out of them. That site has 3000′ of vertical cliff to punish the unwary, but it doesn’t take that much for a fatality, as an environmental studies class from Briar Cliff University found out when they lost a classmate to a 100′ fall.
While family and friends grieve, another discussion is probably going on, if not now then soon. Should the school curtail field expeditions? Given the growing number of deaths by selfie, what is the role (and responsibility) of the instructor who takes students to places with hazards? Should the school dictate what is and is not an acceptable risk? Should students sign waivers, and if so, are they really enforceable?
Geoscience education benefits immensely from seeing what you are studying in the field. And the greatest hazard in field trips is generally the drive to the field or working on roadcuts near highways. But the drama of a fatal fall is more damning in some ways. GG hopes that future students will get to experience the field safely, hopefully mainly by recognizing and avoiding hazardous situations on their own and with the guidance of an instructor rather than by being blocked from accessing important or memorable sites by fearful administrators.
We are all such creatures of the indoors that there are some simple and obvious things about the sky above us that we don’t really get. Most Americans would not know the phase of the Moon unless they were looking at it, and a lot of folks don’t realize you can see the moon in daylight just fine (let alone Venus, under the right conditions). GG likes poking around in such little oddities as the offset from the earliest sunset to the shortest day. Here’s another one: you can kind of see the whole year of sunshine play out in a month of watching the Moon.
If you look for the Moon at moonrise on successive days, you will notice it moves around. A lot. As the Moon is pretty close to the ecliptic, you are in fact seeing the same motion that sunrise makes over the course of a year, though the phase varies with the season. Right now (Nov. 25th) the Moon rose nearly at the same place the Sun will rise on the summer solstice–the longest day of the year. In a couple of weeks, it will rise near the place the sun will rise a few days later, on the winter solstice. Of course, you might not notice that as it will only be a narrow waxing crescent just two days after being new.
How long can you see the Moon on a given day? Most people might think 12 hours (maybe even less). If you recognize that the lunar month means that the Moon has to make a circuit of the sky in about 28 days, you might guess 12 and a half hours–and on average you’d be close (if you guessed 11.5 hours, you just had the Moon in a retrograde orbit). But here is the difference between moonrise and moonset for Denver this November:
The average is a bit less than 12 1/2 hours (about 12:24 here), but you can see that some days you can see the Moon a long time, and other days you don’t see it for long at all. Near the winter solstice (either hemisphere), the full moon is high in the sky a long time (full moon above is on the 22nd)–just like the Sun near the summer solstice. But in the summer, the full moon is low in the sky and not up nearly as long.
This can drive photographers batty. First, the Moon will rise in a different spot nearly every night–the exceptions are when it is near the northernmost or southernmost positions. The second is that the timing of moonrise will vary–and not just by that 48 minute average difference between a full lunar “day” and a solar day. When the lunar day lengthens the most, the moonrise will come only about 30 minutes later each night–around the 18th day in the plot above. And then when the lunar day shortens the most, as near day 3 above, it will take over an hour. These extremes are when the north-south position of moonrise changes the most.
All this is because the Moon traverses the ecliptic in just under a month while the Sun takes a whole year on the same journey. One night for the Moon is 12 days for the Sun. So when it seem like it will take forever to get through winter, go look for the moonrise and see it change day to day. It might help the long winter nights pass more quickly…
One has to wonder how often archeologists look for lunar alignments in ancient constructions. There is often considerable attention paid to solar alignments, and for good reason, but don’t you think that sometimes ancient peoples might have marked lunar positions as well?
Well, another story about the national parks breaking down. Another story lamenting that “tourists are loving nature to death,” as the headline puts it. The article (published in multiple papers) documents a stream of thoughtless tourist actions, from literally leaving their shit on the ground to engaging in fistfights over parking spots. As such stories are wont to do, this one reminds us of the estimated $11B backlog in upkeep in the parks.
While nearly none of this is new, this article does tab a couple of new culprits. One is Snapchat and Instagram, where people now can find from geotags where scenic spots are and trek to them. Another, related, problem is the selfie, which has led to deaths and injuries as people scramble closer to cliff edges or wildlife.
But if you look closely, you’ll see that, once again, the reporters missed (ahem) the forest for the trees. The tone of the reporting repeats the mantra, too many people. But a graph in the piece reveals that this is misleading: in 1987, 287 million visited the 305 units in the national park system. This capped a near exponential rise in visitation the previous 3 or 4 decades. That number was only exceeded in 2014, 27 years later and after 65 new units were added to the park system. The article talks about how challenging traffic is in Estes Park. GG drives through there lots virtually every year in the past 25 years, and frankly, it has always been bad. Although there is no doubt that the starvation diet that the Park Service has been on for about 50 years has led to decay of services and facilities, the reality is that most of the current problems are not simply numbers. So what might be behind the concerns voiced in the article?